Grief is not a linear journey but a labyrinth of memories, regrets, and unexpected revelations. Netflix’s The Life List (titled Life’s Journey in some regions) navigates this emotional terrain with grace, offering a story that transcends its romantic-comedy veneer to probe the complexities of loss, self-discovery, and the transformative power of unfinished dreams. Directed with a delicate balance of warmth and candor, the film follows Alex (Sophia Carson), a woman thrust into a whirlwind of introspection after her mother’s death leaves her with an ultimatum: complete a childhood bucket list within a year to inherit her family’s estate. What unfolds is not merely a checklist of adventures but a poignant excavation of identity, relationships, and the quiet resilience required to rebuild a life fractured by grief.

The Weight of Inheritance: Between Obligation and Liberation

Alex’s journey begins as a reluctant odyssey. A former advertising executive now adrift, she embodies the millennial paradox of ambition stifled by comfort. Her mother’s posthumous challenge—revisiting a list of 20 youthful aspirations—initially feels like a cruel joke. Yet, as Alex begrudgingly embarks on tasks ranging from rekindling a lost friendship to becoming a teacher, the film reveals its deeper thesis: grief, when confronted, can be a catalyst for unearthing buried truths. The list becomes a mirror, reflecting not just who Alex once wanted to be, but who she has become—and who she might still become.

Sophia Carson’s performance anchors the film’s emotional core. Her Alex is neither a saintly mourner nor a caricature of midlife crisis; she is flawed, witty, and achingly human. A standout scene involves Alex tracking down her estranged father, a subplot that veers into raw vulnerability. Selling her luxury car and designer wardrobe to fund the search, she confronts the hollow materialism that once defined her, only to discover that closure—and familial love—cannot be bought. This arc, reminiscent of Eat Pray Love’s soul-searching but grounded in harder truths, underscores the film’s refusal to romanticize healing.

The Irony of “Living by the ABCs”: Adventure, Bravery, Creativity

Central to the film’s charm is its interrogation of clichéd self-help tropes. Alex’s list, scrawled by her 14-year-old self, includes goals like “Fall in love” and “Have 1 or 2 kids”—quaint ambitions that clash with her adult disillusionment. Yet, the script cleverly subverts expectations. For instance, reconnecting with her childhood friend Carly (a storyline handled with refreshing subtlety) isn’t a saccharine reunion but a reckoning with past cowardice. Years earlier, Alex abandoned Carly after she came out as gay; their reconciliation isn’t about grand gestures but the quiet courage to say, “I’m sorry.” Here, the film critiques the notion that personal growth requires dramatic upheaval, suggesting instead that redemption often lies in small, honest acts.

Similarly, Alex’s romantic entanglements—a love triangle involving her aloof boyfriend Andrew and a charming writer named Garrett—avoid predictable beats. The film acknowledges the messiness of adult relationships without reducing them to plot devices. When Andrew exits her life upon realizing he won’t inherit her mother’s company, the moment isn’t played for villainy but as a sobering reminder of how transactional love can become. Garrett, meanwhile, serves less as a knight in shining armor than a mirror for Alex’s evolving priorities. Their chemistry is understated, a testament to the film’s preference for emotional authenticity over contrived drama.

Teaching as an Act of Self-Forgiveness

The film’s most resonant thread involves Alex’s pursuit of becoming a teacher—a goal she initially dismisses as impractical. Her journey from corporate burnout to mentoring hospitalized children is depicted with unflinching tenderness. In one quietly powerful sequence, Alex bonds with a terminally ill student, their interactions devoid of melodrama but rich in mutual vulnerability. When the student’s mother dies in childbirth, leaving Alex to care for the infant, the narrative avoids easy sentimentality. Instead, it poses difficult questions about responsibility, legacy, and what it means to “mother” when life itself feels fragile. This subplot, elevated by Carson’s nuanced portrayal, echoes themes in The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, where mundane tasks become portals to profound self-discovery.

The Shadow of the “Inspiration Porn” Trope

To its credit, The Life List sidesteps the pitfalls of many grief-centric narratives that veer into emotional manipulation. Unlike films that reduce loss to a catalyst for saccharine life lessons, here, Alex’s grief is textured and unresolved. Her mother’s absence lingers not as a ghostly presence but as a silent collaborator in her transformation. When Alex finally confronts her mother’s old journal, discovering entries that reveal insecurities and regrets mirroring her own, the moment feels earned—a reminder that parents, too, are flawed humans navigating their own unmet aspirations.

That said, the film occasionally flirts with cliché. A late-act reveal involving a long-lost half-sister risks veering into soap opera territory, though it’s salvaged by Carson’s restrained performance. Similarly, the recurring motif of a “psychic connection” between Alex and her mother—hinted at through coincidental encounters—feels underdeveloped, a narrative shortcut where deeper exploration might have sufficed. Yet, these missteps are minor in a story otherwise committed to emotional honesty.

Conclusion: The Alchemy of Unfinished Business

The Life List succeeds not because it offers answers but because it dares to sit with life’s ambiguities. In its final act, Alex stands at her mother’s grave, list completed but heart still fractured. There’s no sweeping epiphany, no neatly tied bow—only the quiet understanding that grief and growth are lifelong companions. The film’s greatest triumph lies in its refusal to equate healing with closure. Like the “unfinished” state of the bucket list itself, Alex’s journey is a testament to the idea that transformation begins not with grand gestures but with the courage to confront what we’ve buried.

For audiences weary of trite inspirational tales, The Life List offers something rarer: a story that honors the messiness of being human. It reminds us that sometimes, the most radical act of bravery is not chasing a dream but rediscovering the self we abandoned along the way. As Alex learns, the purpose of life isn’t to check off boxes but to gather the scattered pieces of our past and present—and build something new, one imperfect step at a time.